I said, ‘Higher. A little higher. Gently.’
She moved her foot up my leg. ‘I was an athlete,’ she said. ‘From about ten to eighteen. Then I went to uni. One joint, one paper cup of cheap wine, one night in the sack. Ex-athlete.’
‘Ex-track athlete,’ I said. ‘There are other places to display athleticism.’
Linda put her plate on the floor and slid down the sofa. The kimono rode up above her pubic hair. She lifted one long, strong leg and rested it on my shoulder. ‘That is so,’ she said. ‘What do you know about the leather sofa half mile?’
‘It’ll leave a wet spot,’ I said.
‘Wet spot? It’ll float the sofa into the fucking kitchen.’
Later I told her about my trip to Paul Gilbert’s health spa.
‘Jesus Christ, Jack,’ she said. ‘How the fuck can you be so calm? You should have gone to the cops.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Too messy.’ But I was starting to have doubts about my decision.
Harry met Cam and me at the front door. He was wearing a hacking jacket in soft grey checks, grey flannels, a pale yellow brushed-cotton shirt, and a silk tie in shades of grey and lavender. We went through into the breakfast room. Rain misted the french doors on to the terrace but concealed lighting made the square room’s lemon walls glow and the whole house was warm enough for shirtsleeves.
We helped ourselves to muesli or porridge from the buffet. Harry and I had oatmeal porridge soaked with raisins overnight. Cam had a teaspoon of muesli. Then Mrs Aldridge brought in poached eggs, grilled ham, pencil- thin beef sausages, and grilled tomatoes. Harry once told us she had cooked for an English trainer. He said the man didn’t give him a ride for two years after he stole Mrs Aldridge by offering her five pounds a week more than she was getting. ‘Ate like a prince after that,’ he said. ‘Didn’t eat often but when I did, by Jesus.’
In the study after the first sip of Mrs Aldridge’s coffee, dark and viscous as mapping ink, Harry said, ‘Jack, this Dakota Dreamin. We’re thinkin of goin for a ride.’
‘From what we saw?’ I said.
Harry scratched inside an ear. ‘Tony Ericson won’t run the bugger in a proper trial. Don’t blame him. Too risky, history like that.’ He sniffed his cup. ‘He’s happy to see him take it easy on his first outin, though. But we know, there’s only a couple of nags runnin around in the mud now could show him a bum.’
I said, ‘If form’s a guide, this thing may never run like that again, never mind improve.’
‘Chance of that.’ Harry sipped his coffee. ‘Still, Ericson reckons he’ll take a race or two. Cam here likes him.’
I looked at Cam. He’d gone off with the boy, Tom, and the horse after the gallop.
‘The boy reckons he’s taken the horse around that 2400 in just on two-thirty,’ said Cam. ‘Didn’t tell his dad. Tony would have paddled his arse.’
I’d come to realise that Cam’s judgment was vital to Harry’s operations. Harry watched jockeys. Cam looked at horses. ‘Fella’s got the Eye,’ Harry said to me after my second photography mission. ‘Not one in a thousand around horses got it. Can’t learn it. Mystery.’
Harry held up the silver coffee pot inquiringly. ‘Two-thirty on that sheep paddock is hot stuff. Add a few seconds, it’s still smokin.’ He poured for Cam. ‘Still. Spring would’ve been best. But we can’t hold this thing together that long.’
‘Who’s inside so far?’ Cam said.
‘Ericson says it’s just Rex Tie,’ Harry said. ‘Might well be true. Told Rex, he says one word, in his sleep even, he’ll train polar bears in Siberia for a livin.’ He swivelled his chair, looked out into the dripping garden for a few seconds, completed the circuit. ‘I reckon we’ve got a better than usual chance to keep this thing tight. Not your whole stable and the connections in the know here. Just a few yokels.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Fair few things to think about concernin this horse, though. Number one is: do we want to go first up?’
We sat in silence for a while. I wasn’t sure that I had a sensible opinion about when to mount a betting coup.
‘First,’ Cam said. He stretched his legs. You could see he was thinking about a cigarette.
‘What’s the reasonin?’ Harry said.
Cam smiled his thin smile. ‘There’s two points,’ he said. ‘One, like Jack says, there might not be a second up. Two, the first time this horse turned out twice in a reasonable time, he bled. The second time he came off lame. I say put on the money and pray.’
Harry was doodling with his Mont Blanc on the blotter. ‘What do you reckon, Jack?’ he asked without looking up.
‘How much is involved here?’ For once I wanted to know.
Harry shook his head. ‘Not yet. Money clouds the judgment. We want the horse to win for us. Question is, do we want to try for first up?’
I said, ‘If we don’t, the whole world gets a look at him. If he finishes in one piece and he backs up again inside a reasonable time, someone’s going to be looking for the party. We’d be, wouldn’t we?’
Harry pushed his coffee cup and saucer away, opened the brassbound cedar cigar box on the desk and took out the first of his three Havanas of the day.
Cam was out of the gate as Harry’s fingers touched the porcelain cup. He was blowing Gitane smoke out of his nose before Harry had the cigar band off.
‘Not an easy one,’ Harry said. Eyeing the cigar suspiciously, he rolled it between the thumb and fingers of his left hand. Then he picked up a silver spike and violated the rounded end. After several exploratory sucks, he lit the cigar with a kitchen match, leaned back and waved the small baton at me. ‘Sure you won’t, Jack? Makes it all worthwhile.’
I shook my head sadly. You can get over love affairs but you never get over Havanas.
‘Horse’s goin racin with us or without us,’ Harry said. ‘Thing is, if it’s not with us, Ericson and Rex Tie’ll go looking for the stake money. They might as well go on the wireless with the news.’
We sat in silence again. The smoke from Harry’s Havana drifted up towards the lofty ceiling, meeting and mingling with that from Cam’s Gitane. Outside, a gust of wind plucked at the last few leaves on the elm.
Harry made a clicking noise. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘First up it is.’ He opened a drawer and took out a yellow legal pad. ‘This is a big one, Jack. We have to spread the risk around, that’s the way we do it. Done a few quick sums here. I’m assumin we’ll start in the fifties, see the price shrink like a prick in a cold shower when we get movin. If you’re in, it’s twenty-five grand apiece from you fellas.’
He looked at Cam, at me. ‘What’s your thinkin?’
Cam blew a perfect smoke ring. ‘I’m in,’ he said.
‘Jack?’
Twenty-five thousand dollars. I was broke as usual. Most of the Ballarat payout had been distributed among my creditors. What would Charlie Taub say? I knew what he’d say. He’d say: Horse business. Never met a man it didn’t ruin. In any event, the creature would probably break down soon after leaving the barrier and be shot behind a screen.
‘How long have I got to raise it?’ I asked.
Harry took a draw, studied the cigar, reluctantly tipped off an inch of ash. ‘Your credit’s good. Day before’ll do.’ He looked at me. ‘I’d offer you a loan, Jack,’ he said, little smile. ‘Only my late dad always said never lend a gambler money. You’re sidin with the devil if you do.’
‘A wise father,’ I said, ‘is worth more than a clever child.’ We went into the cinema and watched films of all Dakota Dreaming’s races. Only the first one gave me any hope.
21
Kevin Pixley, former MP for Peterslee and Minister for Urban Development, lived in one of a row of mansions with the bay at the end of their gardens. Peterslee this wasn’t. Peterslee was little brick veneers with concrete yards cringing in the flightpath from Tullamarine.
Linda had set up the appointment with Pixley. Then she’d been summoned to see the boss at the headquarters in Sydney. ‘It’s just bullshit,’ she said. ‘Randy little Pom with a wife in Singapore. The creep’s been trying to get into my pants since he arrived.’
I said, ‘Inexplicable. Why would he want to do that?’
‘I’ll deal with you when I get back tonight. I told Pixley you’re helping with legal aspects of a story I’m doing
